The Adventures of Amelia WilliamsProject Volkhova

Nassau, the Bahamas. June, 1951Chapter One: “But I don’t even play tennis!”

The waters of the pool rippled in the gentle breeze, Amelia Williams staring into the wavelets over the top of a fashion magazine through her designer sunglasses. She lay on a foldable couch beneath a broad canopy that protected her pale skin from burning in the summer sunshine. The unbuttoned, soft pink short sleeved shirt she wore above a scandalous egg shell blue two piece bikini slid apart as she turned slightly on the lounger. Standing on the far side of the pool and looking directly towards her was a young, athletic looking man with a tanned white complexion and blonde hair. White linen suit reflecting the bright mid-morning light, he stood outside the glass doors into the restaurant and bar area unmoving. Amelia raised her shades and, resting them on top of her head while twitching her lips into a faint and she hoped irresistibly seductive smile, made deliberate eye contact. Nodding in response, the man retreated into the shadows. She had been at the clinic for almost a month, on the one hand in order to make contact with an American undercover agent and act as his courier. But she was also there at the US tax payer’s expense to receive physiotherapy treatment for injuries sustained in her previous mission, albeit one she had undertaken as a journalist rather than with any official status. One of her opponents, a fellow worker in the news media named Marigold Currie, had abducted Amelia and subjected her, if only for a few moments, to a torture method known as the strappado. This involved lifting a captive into the air by their wrists but with their arms tied behind their back, thus turning the shoulders all the way around in the opposite direction to that which nature intended and putting the strain of her whole body weight on muscles and connective tissue not only fully stretched but which would not normally carry a load in that way. It was like doing a workout and pulling all the muscles that you did not know you had, except that you can stop exercise when the pain starts. An interrogator takes your yell of surprised anguish as a sign that they have picked a method that works on you and leave you up there to sweat. Marigold Currie had fortunately given up at this point but not before Amelia’s shoulders had been stretched almost to snapping point by the initial hoist into the air. As the man disappeared, a dark haired woman of Amelia’s own age, her therapist, walked towards her from behind him. She carried a tray of two drinks, it was never too early for spiced rum cocktails, and sat down on the couch next to Amelia’s.

“So, how are you feeling today?” asked Millie, short for Millicent, as she went to pass a glass.“Fighting fit” scowled Amelia; “but it’s cool here, so you can carry on marking me unfit if you like”“Really?” queried Millie, putting the glass back down on the tray. She reached across and took hold gently of Amelia’s right arm, moving it carefully as Amelia sighed. Suddenly but still with care, Millie turned the arm in a different direction and caused her patient to yell out and jerk on the couch.“What did you do that for?!” cried Amelia; “you’re supposed to be making me feel better!”“Just showing that I’m not marking you unfit to extend your holiday” reproved Millie firmly“Thanks” said Amelia, though whether it was thanks for the drink or the arm twist was ambiguous.“Would you like to run through your schedule for the day?” asked Millie“No, because I’m not running anywhere today” said Amelia; “my schedule is lying next to this pool all day waiting for the sunset, or dinner... whichever comes first. Do you know who that man was?”“What man?” Millie asked.“The man in the white suit” explained Amelia; “you passed him as you came out”“No, sorry” Millie apologised; “he isn’t a patient, unless he’s only just checked in. Now, that man by the doors is certainly worth talking to. He’s a botanist, a kind of explorer type. The guy over there is also a famous scientist, a biochemist, and we’ve got quite a few science types in at the moment. There’s an astrophysicist staying here too, but only for tonight. I can’t see him at the moment, but you ought to chat them up. They probably lead very dull lives...”“That’s quite a coincidence” agreed Amelia; “yeah... I’ll keep a look out for them”

Once Millie had returned to aiding more cooperative patients, and after draining her glass, Amelia buckled up her two-inch heeled sandals and strode towards the bar. Sure enough, the man in the linen suit was propping it up. She walked over to stand beside him, talking to him while taking care not to face him and after waiting for the barman to disappear in search of a snack that Amelia requested because she knew they did not have any.

“Harrison” said Amelia, more as a statement than a question.“Mrs Williams, journo and adventuress extraordinaire” replied Harrison, more as a statement than an answer; “I was waiting for a chance to talk to you. It’s taken longer than expected to get things done, but it’s all on microfilm now. You must get it in as soon as possible”“You have it with you?” asked Amelia“Of course not!” snapped Harrison; “I don’t carry it around with me, and it’s taken days to be sure you were the contact and I think they’re closing in. The exchange must be tonight”“Can you tell me what it’s all about?” asked Amelia“Not much” said Harrison quickly; “but I run a diving school, and we’ve been watching them put a base of some kind together underwater. The boffins will know what it is when they see the pictures, but I do know it’s codenamed Volkhova and there’s a Professor Menshikov working on it...”“Are you going to come back here, hand it over at dinner?” suggested Amelia“No” said Harrison, “I have already run the risk of leading to where you’re staying just by coming here today, so I won’t run it a second time. Meet me at this address at seven o’clock, we’re going to a party on a yacht owned by a friend. It’s moored offshore, so bring something to keep the wind off you when we’re taken out there...”“Okay...” acknowledged Amelia, reading the address written on the back of a mat; “evening wear if it’s on a yacht I’m guessing. Glad I spent all that money on new clothes now!”“See you tonight then, Mrs Williams” smiled Harrison grimly before turning and walking straight out without looking back.

As Harrison departed and the apologetic barman returned, Amelia’s attention was drawn to a group of three men in discussion around a small table in a corner of the room. Ordering and taking another rum cocktail, she moved across to a nearby table and pretended to flick idly through the pages of an abandoned magazine. She recognised two of the men as those pointed out by Millie, the biochemist and the botanist, and she suddenly realised that the third man must be the astrophysicist she had mentioned but been unable to see. Their conversation was in hushed tones, and it was impossible to make out sentences. But mention of things like trajectories, test subjects, laboratories and cactus plants, which was what really aroused her interest, made it clear that this was a meeting of purpose. And then a name drifted across from the adjacent table that made all the pieces fit together. One of the men referred to a deadline set by the Texan, their apparent sponsor. They were working on the other half of the secret project to turn creepy alien cactus into the basis for a biological weapon. And that was why these particular scientists were present, all specialising in fields relevant to something alien but plant based coming to Earth and turning into something that would affect the human race. As the meeting ended and the men departed in different directions, Amelia finished her drink and followed the botanist into a corridor that led to the one wing of the clinic’s accommodation. She wished that Millie had told her their names but, in all truth, she would probably not have thought it necessary to remember them at the time. The man she was following was grey haired but not old, in his fifties perhaps. He started with surprise as Amelia rested a hand on his shoulder and turned him around.

“You know he won’t be very happy with you” said Amelia“Who?” demanded the man, confused: “who won’t be happy?”“Our boss...” lied Amelia, “the Texan of course. Does he know you talk so openly about the work?”“Openly?” queried the man; “there was nobody listening, we were alone!”“Well, I heard you obviously...” said Amelia; “and they have listening devices too you know”“And what did you hear?” asked the man; “no... It does not matter. What are you going to do?”“When are you returning to the main centre?” asked Amelia, trying to act cool.“You mean Bakersfield?” asked the man, his face changing as he realised his indiscretion.“Erm... yeah” said Amelia, now in possession of a lead; “that place, where you do the planty stuff”“And you are really one of our organisation?!” exclaimed the man; “planty stuff indeed!”“Whatever” said Amelia dismissively; “just, you know, take this as a warning... or something”

She walked away towards her own room, leaving a bewildered scientist standing in the corridor behind her. A moment later he turned and set off in search of one of his two colleagues. They would soon find out who this woman was and if was indeed sent by the Texan to spy on them.

*****

Amelia pulled the jacket over her shoulders as she stood by the waterfront in the cooling sea breeze and waited for Harrison to arrive. Beneath the jacket she wore the kind of evening dress you could get away with at a yacht party in the Bahamas. The black dress was low cut, strapless, and short to show off the full length of her legs, and made of fabric a little on the thin side. Open black sandals with two inch heels, a fashionable dark blue jacket and a minimal amount of jewellery completed the look. The south of France and the Caribbean were, she considered, two of the only places on the planet that you could dress down like this and actually be regarded as ultra-chic for doing so. That’s what she hoped anyway, and if any party guests got the wrong idea of her then Harrison could hit them for her. He looked like that kind of guy. Even as she thought about him, the man himself came jogging along the pier to join her and showed her into a small launch. His gaze was a mixture of both appreciation and dismay that she did not realise the importance of being discreet on undercover work. Or maybe she preferred the complex bluff, of being the one person in the room so obviously noticeable that they could not possibly be a spy. The journey across the harbour and out to the boat lying just out to sea took about half an hour, and it pulled up alongside a retractable stair case that led into the enormous ocean going yacht via a door sized hatch level with the floor below the deck. A short corridor led into a large dining space, furnished and decorated for a party with copious drinks and canapés lining the tables. A jazz quartet was warming up in the corner and, after a brief introduction and with most of the guests now aboard, burst into their full repertoire of melodies. Amelia and Harrison mingled for an hour or so, making small talk and enjoying the hospitality, until meeting alone together by a table while the attention of those around them was elsewhere.

“So come on then!” said Amelia; “have you got the films or not? Aren’t you supposed to be...”“Not here” hissed Harrison; “not now. You see the man over there?”“You mean the plain looking tough guy in the grey suit, who isn’t talking to anyone?”“Yeah” confirmed Harrison; “he’s one of them, so we can’t exchange the films in here”“So what are we going to do?” snapped Amelia impatiently; “there’s no room to lose him!”“Kiss me” said Harrison, leaning in towards her; “there are free cabins, I’ll take you to one”“Mr Harrison!” gasped Amelia, slipping her arms around him and returning his kiss with more added interest than he was expecting. Pulling apart for a moment she whispered “lead on...”They pulled each other down the corridor that led from the main room to the cabins. Reaching a cabin, Harrison opened the door and Amelia tugged him inside. Kicking the door shut behind them, she grabbed his collars and dragged him down until they sat together on the bunk. Sliding one hand down his shirt and the other up to his hair, Amelia kissed him until his own hands reached up and eased her away.“We don’t have time for this right now” said Harrison“Well, you brought me to a cabin...” countered Amelia, pouting on the bunk.“Only to get you away from... them!” explained Harrison; “we need to work fast”“I always do...” said Amelia, winking cheekily.“Not like that” snapped Harrison; “there isn’t time!”“James Bond always finds time” sighed Amelia, staring coldly back at the disappointing agent.“Who is James Bond? Never mind...” Harrison continued, opening a bag that he pulled from a locker.“Looks like you came prepared for something” said Amelia; “even if it wasn’t me...”“Sorry” said Harrison, “but I don’t think anyone could really be prepared for you. Mr Williams must be one hell of a lucky guy”“Yes” agreed Amelia; “he is”“You need to take this” said Harrison as he pulled out a tennis racquet in a carry case.“But I don’t even play tennis!” cried Amelia“This is part of a much more important game” explained Harrison; “the films are hidden inside the handle in a secret compartment. Actually you can play tennis with it, because it’s been designed so that the weight of the racquet is correct with the films taped inside it...”“Probably best if I leave it here and then pick it up at the end of the night” suggested Amelia; “give me the cabin key. It will look weird if I carry a tennis bat around all night”“Racquet” hissed Harrison; “it’s a racquet!”“I know, I’m not too keen on jazz either” agreed Amelia“Are you...” asked Harrison, wondering if she was winding him up or really that slow; “never mind”

They returned to the party and separated in the hope that the enemy agent would not suspect that Amelia and Harrison were connected, as they had kept apart for much of the night. Too far apart, Amelia sighed inwardly. About half an hour later, the party was interrupted by a terrified scream from the passage leading back to the cabins. Amelia was first to respond as the band stopped and the other guests looked around in confusion. Arriving at an open cabin door, beside which a male guest comforted his companion, she looked inside. Harrison lay on the floor, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as a stream of fresh blood rolled slowly with the rolling of the boat. In hindsight the lack of reaction from the man that Harrison believed to be ‘one of them’ was suggestive of what she would find even before she ran into the corridor. The cabin was the same cabin, and the racquet in its case lay unopened on the bunk. Reacting instantly, Amelia snatched up the racquet and slipped out, hoping that the confusion would conceal its removal. The boat’s owner arrived with two other men and, with a reprimand to Amelia for entering the scene of the crime, began the business of taking photos and keeping the other guests away. She turned the corner, out of sight of the other occupants of the corridor, and was relieved to see the hatch in the side of the yacht open. The small launch at the bottom of the steps was not only still there but also, for the moment, was unattended. She unfastened the mooring rope and started the engine. Immediately, a dozen faces looked over the side of the boat including the suspected enemy agent and murderer. He did not join the others in calling after her, but his eyes met hers and instantly she knew her cover was blown, assuming that he had not known all along of course. But if that was the case then why was she still alive? Pushing the racquet further out of sight, Amelia powered up the boat’s engine as hard as it would turn and sped towards the shore.

Chapter Two: “Would you like to borrow mine?”

Amelia looked out of the window at the sunrise lighting the top of the clouds, eyes mesmerised by the spinning propeller blades on the wing mounted engine. There had been no pursuit from the boat to the shore, not least because she had stolen the only launch. Taking a taxi from the pier to the clinic, she had booked another taxi immediately from the reception and quickly packed a light travel bag before heading directly to the airport. She was in luck too, for a private ferry airline had seats free and was only a few minutes from taking off on an overnight service that shuttled just between Nassau and Miami using a small fleet of retired Douglas Dakota planes from the war. She would have preferred a Pan Am flight direct to New York or Washington DC, but they were several hours away and getting off the island was her first concern. She was unaware that the agent from the yacht had only to contact fellows at the clinic and the airport while she was in the air and telephone ahead of her arrival in order for her movements to be tracked. The airliner circled the city just once before coming in to land at the 36th Street Airport of Miami, the engines throttling back moments before the thud of the wheels striking the tarmac. It took a couple of minutes to taxi to the terminal, then another ten to alight down the steps and walk inside. Amelia headed without a moment’s delay to the Pan Am check in desk to secure a ticket on the next available flight to either of her destination cities, only to find all flights booked out and no place available until the following afternoon. Forced to accept the delay, Amelia booked the seat and asked for a hotel room to be booked for night on her behalf. This completed, she took a taxi to the hotel and checked in.

Two unobtrusive young men in plain, unstylish brown suits had been chatting between themselves behind Amelia as she had booked the flight and the hotel. Now, having checked in and waiting for the elevator up to her floor, she noticed them again in the hotel lobby. They took no notice of her, and it was after all perfectly normal to check into a hotel when arriving in a city. Maybe she was just getting jumpy, but decided nonetheless to take the elevator to a different floor and walk back down the stairs to her own room. Looking left and right along the corridor, Amelia was satisfied that it was deserted and let herself into the room. She did not wish to carry the precious racquet around with her all day in case something innocuous happened to damage or cause her to lose it. Equally, a day in the hotel was going to drive her crazy. Hiding the carry case holding the racquet under the bed’s mattress, hardly imaginative or effective but options were rather limited, Amelia allowed herself a short walk in the late morning. The streets were busy with people and traffic, but still she looked over her shoulder to make sure she was not being followed and scrutinised passersby on the busy sidewalks. And there they were again. This time the two men were buying a newspaper, still not for a moment looking in her direction. But that was three times she had seen the same two men, and in a city the size of Miami that was too great a coincidence. Her steps sped up as Amelia walked, then jogged and finally ran back to the hotel. Repeating the trick with the elevator and the stairs, she got back into the room and checked under the mattress. The carry case was still there. Heart pounding, she opened it and looked inside. The tennis racquet was still there. She was imagining things.

As darkness fell and a storm unleashed heavy rain that hammered against the window, Amelia went down to the restaurant for a late dinner having spent the whole afternoon and the early evening in her room worrying about getting the vital microfilms to where they were needed. Despite managing to convince herself that the two men were not Russian spies or henchmen of the Texan, seeing the same people three times in one morning in different parts of the city had shaken her. It really was as though they were following her, and there they were again. Sitting opposite her, leaning on the bar as the waiter took her order, the two men stood chatting and minding their own business. Skipping the starter, and still mindful of minimising the time the tennis racquet was left unattended, she went straight into a main course of seafood with fruits and spices followed by an iced vanilla macchiato. All evening long, the two men in the brown suits laughed and slapped each other on the back and congratulated each other’s jokes. Amelia was getting tired, for she had not really slept during the flight from Nassau, but to her their performance seemed unnatural. Each time she had seen them, they had behaved the same way. Perhaps they were just very good friends, but uncertainty again led her to take the elevator to the next floor and then descend the stairs and check the passage before entering her room. Locking the door, she again checked beneath the mattress and inside the carry case. Everything was exactly how she had left it, but this time an overwhelming feeling of the room feeling different swept across her. The tiredness of leaving the party, then the clinic, then the whole island with such haste and then a day of nothing was taking its toll on her nerves. What she needed was a shower and a good night’s sleep. The shower was easy. Sleeping less so.

Having changed at the clinic almost twenty-four hours ago into clothes more suitable for travelling, Amelia now pulled them off and stepped into the spacious shower. The refreshing water flowed over her body, washing away the anxiety with the soap and shampoo. Rubbing herself down with the hotel’s soft white bath towel and then drying her hair with the electric drier, Amelia was about to step back out into the bedroom when the same feeling of unease took hold and clutched her heart. Opening the door a fraction, she looked out but could see nobody. The bed too was still untouched. Amelia threw the towel across the room and stepped out from the wet tiles onto the warm carpet, and froze as the cold muzzle of a pistol was pushed into her back. Raising her hands slowly, Amelia finally took a deep breath and asked:

“How long have you been in here?”“Only since you were filling your face downstairs” replied a harsh, female voice.“No!” cried Amelia, almost turning around; “what are you doing here?”“Bringing you in” purred Marigold Currie; “my boss wants to talk to you”“And that is?” asked Amelia; “the Texan didn’t take you back did he?”“After a while” said Marigold hesitantly; “once he was sure he could trust me”“You mean he bullied you until he was sure you couldn’t be lying any more” said Amelia“Something like that” said Marigold; “I would have been better if the FBI hadn’t let me go”“We need to stop meeting like this” said Amelia; “you, me, hotel rooms. Can I turn around?”“If you must” said Marigold; “but don’t try anything. I will shoot you. Maybe not in the head, as much as that’s what I want to do, but I will put a slug through you somewhere if you give me any kind of excuse. And I’m pleased to say that yes, this is all your own doing. You were off the radar, just a name in a file. And then you have to draw attention to yourself by trying to get information out of the scientists at the clinic, actually walking right up to one of them and pretending to work for the Texan. I mean... of all people, you working for the Texan?”“It kind of worked” said Amelia; “because I now know more than I did last week”“Yes, and it’s going to get you killed” said Marigold; “no, worse than that. Hurt, then killed!”“Would you like me to dress for the journey?” asked Amelia, still holding her hands in the air.“Not especially” said Marigold; “the Texan has plans for you anyway, so I wouldn’t bother”“Okay” said Amelia; “so, are we going to meet him or stand in a hotel room all night”“We’re going!” said Marigold, fingering the contents of a small handbag before tipping it upside down and spilling the contents onto the bed.

Amelia realised that if Marigold was here because of her indiscretion with the scientists then she probably did not know about Harrison or the microfilm in the racquet under the mattress. If Amelia could get Marigold out of the room while most of the guests were still returning from dinner, a chance might present itself to stall the abduction attempt and overpower Marigold before returning and escaping with the racquet back to the relative safety of the airport. It was half a plan, except that Marigold was still searching the contents of her bag for something. And she might change her mind about letting Amelia dress before being bundled into the car, making it more difficult for Amelia to raise the alarm about being forcibly removed from the hotel. Marigold shoving a naked guest into down a corridor would instantly attract attention but, fully clothed, she could pass the whole guest list in the foyer at gunpoint and nobody would notice. And then it would be a meeting with the Texan.

“What are you looking for?” demanded Amelia; “because I’m getting bored now”“Just wait a moment!” shouted back a flustered Marigold, muttering “they were in here...”“Would you like to borrow mine?” asked Amelia, nodding towards the top drawer next to the bed.“No tricks now” cautioned Marigold; “remember, I have the gun and... oh...”

Opening the drawer while carefully keeping the pistol trained on her prisoner, Marigold took a quick look inside. Along with a hotel bible and Amelia’s own pistol, which Marigold slipped into a pocket, she found and lifted out a pair of steel handcuffs. Removing the keys and stuffing them into her bag along with replacing its other contents, she opened the handcuffs and motioned Amelia to turn away from her. Amelia felt her arms lowered and positioned behind her back, then felt the cold steel close around her wrists with the familiar rapid clicking of metal teeth knocking past the locking lever on each bracelet. Finally her captor opened the door and pushed Amelia into the passage. It was as deserted as when she had entered the room half an hour before. As deserted as it had been each time she had descended the stairs and entered the room. The sickening and logical thought only now struck her that she might be only guest in this floor! No, there were voices coming from around a corner to the left, in the direction of the elevators and the stairs. Marigold was trapped between the advancing fellow guests and the locked doors of the rooms behind them. What if she fired the gun anyway? What if the voices were not guests, but were staff that would be too afraid to question the peculiar activities of guests who may have drunk too much at the bar? Marigold was obviously thrown by the situation, for she propelled Amelia along the passage in the opposite direction. Or was she? It was only Amelia that had stopped and turned towards the familiar vestibule from which the voices came. Marigold was still full purpose, and they rounded a corner in the opposite direction before whoever was coming had seen them. Why was Marigold escorting her into a dead end? Was she going to simply shoot her and hide? But it was not a dead end, and Amelia’s plan to attract the attention of guests on the main staircase was fundamentally flawed. It was only now that Marigold’s modus operandi of their previous encounter came back to her, when she had been pushed into a goods lift away from onlookers. There was no goods lift here, but equally Marigold had not blindfold Amelia as on the previous occasion. They were going out the back way, but this time they were going to walk out. Amelia cursed her tiredness for slowing her down such that these conclusions came too late.

Marigold Currie threw open the door that led outside onto the emergency stairs and shoved Amelia through it. They were on the sixth floor of eight, and the cold night air clung to Amelia’s skin. The rain had stopped, but the metal staircase was still wet and cold and beneath her feet and sent a stab of chilling pain through her ankles. She could no longer hear the voices of anyone inside the hotel, and was cut off from that avenue of rescue altogether as Marigold slammed shut the door. There were no visible means of opening it from the outside, meaning that they were now cut off from the warm inside of the hotel completely except by re-entering via the lobby. Amelia looked down into the darkened alley below, hoping to see someone that Marigold would have to escort her past and who might raise the alarm. The alley way was however deserted. Or was it? Did she see a shadow move near where the alley led onto the street? Even as Amelia was straining to see, Marigold took hold of her arm and dragged her towards the steps. With the door closed, both imprisonment and torture at the hands of the Texan and escape from his agent were downwards from here. The steps were slippery from the rain but otherwise even and wide enough to walk down comfortably, despite the lack of light. At the bottom of the steps, Marigold’s getaway car was parked and ready. Amelia again looked left and right, now in mild panic as the last chance of the abduction being spotted was about to pass. Still there was nobody in sight, and no sign of whoever might have caused the shadow to flicker in the street lighting a few moments before. Trying not to think about what she might step through inadvertently in the garbage strewn alley, Amelia quickly took the few paces to the open rear door of the car twisted awkwardly onto the back seat. Marigold motioned her to lie across the bench seat and then threw two blankets over her. Even if the blankets made her invisible to anyone looking inside the car, she was in a way grateful for their warmth. Coming straight from a warm and relaxing shower into the cool dampness of the outside air was at risk of giving her a chill. And there was nothing worse than facing torture with a cold, hand restraint preventing her from wiping her nose if for no other particular reason.

After a few minutes of driving, Marigold accelerated hard and swerved around a corner. The streets were quiet of other traffic, and it was obvious that her captor wanted to get Amelia into a safe place as quickly as possible. But even so, risking being pulled over by a patrol car seemed reckless. Faster and faster Marigold drove, and Amelia realised that the turns being made at junctions were almost random. She was trying to avoid being caught herself, by some unknown pursuer. Keeping silent on the back seat, Amelia waited in hope that her capture had been spotted after all and that maybe it was the police or a heroic private eye on their tail. When the car stopped, and was so suddenly that the tyres squealed in protest and so did Amelia as she was almost rolled onto the floor. The door opened and Marigold, slipping her arms under Amelia’s and folding them across her chest, pulled her captive bodily out of the car and in through the door of a small apartment. Pulled backwards down a short flight of steps, Amelia kicked and protested before being dumped, still protesting, in a corner while Marigold returned to the street and slammed the car door. Amelia held her breath as she heard Marigold cry out and run back inside, swinging the door shut behind her. An unseen hand stopped it and pushed it back open with a bang as it hit the wall. Footsteps descended the stairs. Marigold was fumbling with the catch of a pistol and two men reached the floor of the apartment and raised their own pistols. There was a crack that made Amelia flinch, her ears singing with the loud report. Marigold fell back into a chair, a small hole in her forehead marking where the bullet had entered her skull. These were professionals. Amelia leaped up and made a move for the stairs, knowing that she did not even have a small chance of climbing them before a second projectile would end her own life. But even a fractional chance and a death while trying to escape was better than being shot while cowering on the floor. Pounding up the half dozen steps she reached the door and, turning her back to it and facing into the room by necessity, she turned the handle and pulled. Rather than shoot her, both men lowered their guns and one even returned the weapon to his left pocket. They wore plain brown suits, but were no longer laughing as they advanced on her. The door behind her did no open and she strained to see back over her shoulder. It had two latches, with a second one near the top of the door. With her wrists handcuffed together she could only reach one of them, and with her arms behind her back could not have reached the top latch at all. Amelia was trapped in the apartment with the men in the brown suits who had followed her every step of the way. One of them was probably the shadow in the alley, watching the back exit to the hotel. So if they were not working for the Texan, they must be working for the other side. Therefore, it was not her that they wanted but the microfilms. That was the only reason she was still alive. Actually, it was the reason that Marigold Currie was dead. For a brief moment Amelia felt guilty about that, but it passed swiftly. She backed up to the wall as a handkerchief was soaked in fluid from a small bottle. She was going to get a long sleep after all.

Chapter Three: “This is a really cheap hotel!”

Consciousness slowly returned to Amelia, aware first of the hard surface her that her face lay upon and then the realisation that her whole body lay on its side on a dusty concrete floor. Unmoving, she tried to recall clearly the events that had led her to... wherever this was. She remembered Marigold Currie abducting her from the hotel room and ending up dead, the car chase, the metal stairs at the back of the hotel, moving shadows, men in brown suits, stepping naked from the shower and hoping that by not dressing she might arouse attention to the abduction and escape, and she remembered lending the absent minded Marigold her own handcuffs that she carried in case she needed them at all times. Needed them, that is, for putting on other people rather than to other people for putting on herself. Unless they were hot, like Harrison. Poor Mr Harrison, the first victim of this tragic string of events. Rewinding her thoughts, Amelia wondered if she were still wearing the restraints. Her left arm was beneath her on the floor and her right lay across her back, and the fingers of both hands were touching each other. Pulling her right arm upwards, she felt the short chain snap taut. With an irrational start she wondered if the men had brought the keys from Marigold’s handbag, and then realised that this was not a naughty weekend away from work. Finding herself locked together and unable to reach the keys was an attractive alternative to whatever she was sure was lined up for her here, and her hands were unlikely to be free for some time regardless. Struggling to sit up and then stand, she made a brief survey of the surroundings. It only needed to be a brief survey too, for she stood in a short and narrow concrete cell with a gate at one end a barred window high in the wall at the other. Beyond the gate was a concrete passage as featureless as the cell, and she was unable to see far in either direction. Through the window she could see a dusty yard surrounded by simple and rather dilapidated concrete buildings beyond which was a high mesh fence, and beyond that she could see mountains covered by impenetrable rainforest. That explained why she was feeling so hot despite wearing no clothing, something she had put down to an after effect of the drugs mixed with dehydration. The sound of Spanish dialect drifting across the yard suggested South America. From the other side of the gate came a gentle cough and Amelia spun around. Standing outside the cell was a tall, military man dressed in a smart green uniform covered with medals and topped with a pretentious peaked cap.

“Welcome back, Mrs Amelia Williams” said the man; “I am General Fernandez-Gonzales”“Not really interested” retorted Amelia; “what do want?”“That is simple, Mrs Williams” said the General; “we want information”“You won’t get it” said Amelia; “I’m not just a number to be pushed around”“We know this” replied the General; “trust me when I say that we know exactly who you are and the things you have done. We know about your torture at the hands of the fascists during the war and your extraordinary resilience during an incident in Berlin. But we will break you, of this be sure”“Whatever” said Amelia, turning her back on him; “and if you’re going to try breaking me, and trust me when I say that better people than you have failed, can you at least call me Amy”“Very well, Amy” said the General; “I won’t insult your obvious bravery and intelligence by asking you any questions today or even tomorrow. We have much planned for you tomorrow, and after that we will begin our work in earnest. But for now, since you choose not to cooperate voluntarily, this accommodation is obviously too comfortable for you. We have another cell that will be yours for as long as you choose to stay with us, until you give us what we wish to hear. We are civilised men at this camp and would not roughly treat such an obviously beautiful woman such as yourself, except in the necessary course of our work with you. So it would be agreeable if you agreed to follow orders when being moved around the camp and not try to escape?”“What would be the point?” asked Amelia, still not turning back to face the General but wiggling her fingers to draw attention to her restraints; “it’s not like I would get very far in these”“This is of course true” agreed the General; “and we will leave those on you for now, even if you do agree to cooperate, as a kind of insurance for your behaviour. But we obviously also do not wish any defiant gestures on your part, making us catch you just to make a point. So, what is your answer?”“Whatever” repeated Amelia; “I’ll go quietly, so long as your civilised men keep their grubby hands to themselves. Trust me when I say I run a ‘buy now, pay later’ policy with my body...”“Your body is a temple that shall not be defiled...” said the General, and after a pause for dramatic effect continuing “but it will torn apart and broken to little smouldering pieces if you resist us”“Thanks for nothing” said Amelia; “so come on, open the gate and let me out if you want to show me a new room. This one was too draughty anyway. This is a really cheap hotel!”“Of course” said the General, nodding to a guard who immediately unlocked and opened the gate.“Lead on then” Amelia sighed, stepping haughtily out into the passage.“Ladies first naturally” the General concurred; “take the first right turn in front of you...”

Turning right from the passage, lined with identical gated cells, Amelia proceeded along a second much shorter passage that opened into a large annexe that once appeared to have been a garage for the camp’s vehicles. Machinery rusted in one corner amidst abandoned vehicle parts and the room had an oily odour. Now however the room had a new purpose, and one that Amelia expected to become very familiar with; a metal chair with leather straps and bolts holding it to the floor, cages, chains on tables and hanging down from pulleys in the ceiling, and a terrifying assortment of tools on another table that were probably not used for working on cars. Set into the nearest wall was a metal door. It had a long lever that, as the guard removed a padlock and pulled it, drew back bolts from all four sides of the door as with a safe. The door itself was constructed of steel sheeting riveted over a metal frame that also contained the locking mechanism hidden within behind the panels. Inside the windowless room there was no furniture with the only features being a metal plate set into the floor and a pair of handcuffs secured to the ceiling by a U-shaped bolt. The block of an old engine was dumped in the corner, and it was clearly a former store room. The smell of old engine oil was much stronger in the room as Amelia stepped inside, and she could feel the greasy sticky slime of years of spilled lubricant under the soles of her feet as she stood on the smooth concrete floor. Unable to reach out and stop herself falling, she made a mental note to take extra care not to slip. As the door shut behind her, the bolts grinding into place followed by the clatter and thud of the padlock being closed and falling against the outer plate, Amelia became aware too of the lack of air in the enclosed space. She was probably not the first person to spend a night locked in the old store, and if that person had suffocated to death then they would not have chosen it again. So she would be able to breath, but already it was feeling hot and stuffy and the pungent smells were getting up her nose. It was going to be a long night and, not wanting to get too dirty already but also not knowing what was planned for the next morning, Amelia slid her back down a wall and sat on the floor in the blackness to wait for the dawn.

*****

When the mechanical sounds from the door signalled its imminent opening, Amelia assumed that it was the morning after. There was no sense of time in the virtually sealed room. No light or sound, no fresh air blowing in to give an idea of the outside temperature. Seconds passed like hours and hours as minutes, lack of oxygen or water making Amelia’s head spin and ache. She was grateful for the cup of water that was tipped between her lips, even more for the second and third cups of cool water after the first enraged her thirst. The guard, a cheerful youngster no older than twenty or so years, then lifted her and removed the handcuffs from her wrists before holding up a stained, torn sheet of fabric. Three holes had been torn in a row and, as the material was pulled over her, Amelia found that they were arm and neck holes. The guard pinned the fabric together at her sides and the makeshift smock was complete. It smelled worse than the prison cell and was clingy and itchy, making bare skin much more appealing and comfortable an option. Not that ‘option’ was an applicable word. If the General wanted to parade her in an oily rag then that was the fashion of the day, and if he wanted her naked again then it would be ripped away from her. It really did not matter. She was here until she escaped or died, and either way she would not divulge the whereabouts of the microfilm. Her disappearance would be reported, her movements tracked, the hotel room searched, and with luck the authorities would actually talk to each other and search her belongings for the films. If she could hold out for a few days, it would be academic anyway. She was led out of the building to a sheltered patch of dirt on which stood a girl and a mule. Smiling and greeting the girl, who smiled in return and replied in Spanish, the guard took a rope that was tied at one end to the saddle and bound Amelia’s wrists tightly together with the other.

“Some exercise this morning, Amy” grinned the young guard; “Maria will take you!”“I really don’t need to walk” scowled Amelia, lifting one foot off the ground to draw the attention of the giggling young couple to her lack of shoes; “but it will be interesting to see the camp...”“Not allowed, sorry...” apologised Maria, pulling a length of cloth from her pocket and tying it over Amelia’s eyes and behind her neck as a blindfold; “is that too tight?”“Okay... I get not seeing the camp, but can’t see where I’m putting my feet either!” protested Amelia indignantly; “I mean... if you’re riding the mule then can I borrow your sandals?”“No!” giggled Maria almost hysterically as Amelia twisted her wrists in the rope and shuffled her feet in the dirt anxiously; “it is the orders of General Fernandez-Gonzales! I will ride Pedro around and around the camp until noon and pull you on your feet, unless you trip and I lift you up and we carry on until we are done. You are forgetting, my sister Amy, this is a punishment for you, no?”“No, I mean yes!” cried Amelia; “if I trust you to lead me, you’re going to do a good job, yes?”“Of course!” said Maria, sounding offended; “and I don’t need your trust. You’re tied to Pedro...”“Where he leads I follow, whether I trust you or not” sighed Amelia; “we know where we stand”“Where you stand, my sister Amy” corrected Maria; “I’m sitting on Pedro! Are you ready?”“No” replied Amelia as the rope pulled taut and she was gently pulled forwards.

The girl Maria was as good as her word, guiding Amelia along a hazard free route. Despite talk of punishments, this was no such thing. Rather it was the first step in a psychological war waged by the General, showing her that he was in charge and that she was powerless. Giving her into the hands of the immature young Maria and parading her stumbling blindly behind a mule was supposed to be an act of humiliation, although, as the heat of the day sapped her energy, it became one of endurance too. The camp was not large, and circuit was always the same. The sunny side was warm, dry grass that led onto rough dirt and over a short strip of asphalt that became hotter to walk upon each time. The shaded side took them across soft dirt either side of a patch of cool but hard concrete. Amelia counted nine or ten circuits, all taken slowly at a mule’s pace with Maria exchanging comments and giggles with guards and camp staff every few moments. But eventually, especially as she became hot and bothered, Amelia gave up counting. Apart from occasional hard or hot surfaces, the apparent walk of shame was neither wearing nor painful as a punishment. It was just very tedious. On and on she walked behind Pedro, carefully picking her steps while safe in the knowledge that Maria was under instructions to keep her path away from anything that might cut or pierce or even cause her to turn an ankle. Eventually, Pedro the mule took a different path and Amelia was led across the compacted dirt of the yard. The rope slackened, her wrists untied, the blindfold was removed and the dirty smock pulled from her body. The young guard that had tied her hands to Pedro then took them again and, pushing her gently back against a wall, fastened them into manacles above her head and walked away. She sighed again. The yard was deserted, though she could see guards patrolling the fence in the distance and the retreating Maria with Pedro the mule. The wall was not in the Sun, again carefully chosen, as the ‘walk of shame’ around the camp had been, so as not to harm her. She was being saved for later, and this was another act of superiority aimed at breaking her will.

The wall might have been shaded in the afternoon but, until the Sun had moved around, had been in the direct sunlight all morning and now radiated an uncomfortable warmth when added to the heat of the afternoon. Amelia alternately leaned back against and stepped forward from the wall, lifting and resting one foot after the other against it to ease aching leg muscles after the morning’s activity but craving the chance to lower her aching arms. As the wall cooled, at least in relation to the stifling heat of the air, she spent more and more time slumped against it. The General had been as good as his word, and had obviously ordered all of his men to keep away from her temptations. At least, she hoped that was the case. Moving position as much as possible, leaning on the wall one way and then the other or transferring her weight from her legs to her arms and back again, Amelia watched the afternoon pass in absolute boredom. At first, as afternoon turned to early evening, the appearance of two guards in the opposite corner of the yard aroused only mild interest. Two became a dozen and in turn a dozen became a long line which in turn became a yard full of uniforms representing every rank and role in the camp with one exception. The sixty or so officers and men, including some women and girls such as Maria, surrounded Amelia in a semi-circle some eight metres away. There was one person missing, and that was General Fernandez-Gonzales. It was as though each one of them was expecting something to happen and, after a day of slipping into a false sense of security and safety, the anticipation soon began to quicken Amelia’s pulse too. Taking deep breaths she tried to calm herself, for this was the payoff for the General’s mind games. Everyone was looking directly at her, expecting something to happen to her, watching her hands subconsciously twist and turn in the manacles and her body tense as her chest tightened and her breaths shortened. Inwardly Amelia kicked herself for allowing boredom to catch her out psychologically. Oh, this General was good. And there he was, appearing in front of her from within the crowd as if by magic. Amelia found herself pulling at the chains holding her wrists over her head, instinctively to protect herself against what her opponent held in his hands.

Turned to face the wall, still fastened to it with her arms reaching forward and upwards and standing away from its surface as directed, Amelia held her breath in as she listened to the swooping swish of the metre long stiff whip as it flicked up and down in the air behind her. It made an especially loud buzz through the air as the General’s right hand flicked the handle towards her, accelerating the end of the slender shaft until, with a crack that exhaled her breath in a surprised gasp, it ended its flight across her buttocks. She scowled over her shoulder at Fernandez-Gonzales, staring him in the eyes until a second blow across the first forced a cry. Each strike after the other elicited a louder wail than the one before, the horse whip whining through the tense atmosphere and cracking into her hips and buttocks randomly. Turning left and right to blows against the side and being driven forward into the wall before being ushered back away from its meagre shelter again and again, Amelia felt as if the skin of her hip region was on fire as it reddened and swelled as the razor like edge of the whip formed its cruel pattern of painful welts and abrasions. Realising first that she was crouching down, arms at full stretch, against the wall as her legs gave way beneath her, Amelia also realised in a daze that the beating had stopped and that all the uniforms had faded away from the yard. The women and Maria rushed forward, but a barked order from Fernandez-Gonzales sent them fleeing in fear of their own hides. Someone caught her as she fell when the manacles were released, but it was all a confusion as her body went into shock and a chill gripped her from the waist up, contrasting with the burning sensation from below the waist. There were voices, some in Spanish but another in English offering congratulations. She had survived forty-seven lashes before starting to yell out, and over fifty before collapsing into the wall and sliding down it oblivious to orders to get up.

Somehow she found herself back in front of the large metal door as the lever was pulled back and it swung open. She just needed to fall into a corner, however foul the floor, but her head was spinning as her body demanded water after the heat of the day and the sudden shock of pain. Even as her legs gave way again, her wrists were grasped by unseen hands and lifted up until fastened tightly into the ceiling suspended handcuffs. Too tightly, a cry sticking in her dry throat as the bands of metal crushed the bones and muscles and scored into the skin. The metal panel disappeared from beneath her feet and she fell, arms pulled taut and the handcuffs taking her full weight. This time she did manage to cry out, but no answer came as the hands moved down into a concrete pit into which her feet dangled and fastened shackles around her ankles. Kicking but unable to reach the lip of the floor even with her toes, Amelia’s final audible if husky and anguished cry was stifled as a bag of thick cloth was pulled over her head and drawn tight. Kicking and twisting but all in vain, suspended by the wrists and tied by the chains to the base of the well, Amelia heard the door slam and be locked tight until the next day. Her heart was racing, her whole body shaking with physical shock, the flesh around her hips still burning as if bathed in flames, her breathing rapid and short yet ineffective as she felt herself begin to suffocate in the bag, arms becoming numb as the blood drained away. This was no good, Amelia thought to herself; “Stop panicking, Pond, right now!” she muttered with difficulty, but immediately began to feel calmer. “Take deep breaths... no, deeper than that, and stop your kicking” she thought to herself. Slowly her breathing returned to normal even through the cloth bag, for it was dry and not sealed, and her blood flow returned to normal. With so much blood needed to heal the skin around her hips, and she could feel the bruises blossoming, Amelia knew that it would take time for feeling to return to her arms. The best she could hope for before being let down was probably pins and needles, and sure enough they felt like a pin cushion after a time. One thing that did not come was sleep, despite her total exhaustion, for every time she nodded a feeling of suffocation overwhelmed her. Heat, shock and dehydration were making her head feel more like a drum being beaten repeatedly for hours, though she realised with a shock that her semi-conscious state might mean that time was flying by without her noticing or that every hour was a single brief minute. One overriding determination kept Amelia calm during the night’s physical and emotional ordeal: “Do not, Pond, under any circumstances whatsoever... vomit into the inside of this bag”

Chapter Four: “Can we just forget I mentioned that?”

Fatigue and tension in her body, along with dehydration and struggling to breathe enough oxygen, were making Amelia feel as though her body had turned to solid lead and that her consciousness was floating above it in an out of body experience. A trickle of blood rolled down one arm where her weight pulling on the handcuffs had cut into her wrists, but otherwise her numb arms felt bloodless. Even though the heat of the room was stifling, Amelia felt chilled to the bone. The only movement was her toes alternately rubbing the sole of the opposite foot in a constant and unconscious action. With a scrape and the whine of a rusty hinge, the heavy door was pulled back and the General came into the cell with one guard. He pulled the bag from Amelia’s head and nodded with satisfaction at the weary, sleep deprived complexion and unfocused gaze. He threw a cup of water into her face. Even that felt cool and refreshing, though Amelia wished he had poured it down her sore throat.

“So, Amy...” began Fernandez-Gonzales; “I trust you had a good night of sleep?”“No” muttered Amelia; “you know I didn’t. I can’t feel my arms. Do you have any more water?”“You need a drink?” said Fernandez-Gonzales; “where is the information given you by Harrison?”“Please just give me the drink” pleaded Amelia; “I really, really need some water...”“Information, then a drink” explained Fernandez-Gonzales; “this is how it works here”“You need me coherent, or you can’t ask any questions” countered Amelia“But we can make you talk before you pass out” argued Fernandez-Gonzales, nodding to a guard outside who passed him the horse whip he had struck Amelia with in the yard the previous day; “you do remember this? Let me explain why you will talk to me about Mr Harrison...”“No!” cried Amelia, audibly sucking in her breath in as her chest muscles tightened; “no, please don’t touch me with that again. I’m still in so much pain... please don’t do it... please, please...”“Amy... I expected so much more of you than this!” cried Fernandez-Gonzales; “your begging me only tells me how close you are to telling me everything I wish to know. The more you beg, the more you tell me that you are nearly ready to talk. We shall begin, and maybe you will get water later...”“No...” whispered Amelia, but whatever plea was to follow was silenced as the guard pushed a rolled oily rag into her mouth and stepped back. With her eyes Amelia stared at Fernandez-Gonzales and pleaded in gagged silence for him to reconsider, to release her from the ceiling, to give her a drink.“Let me explain why you will soon talk” continued Fernandez-Gonzales, flicking the whip across the crimson and blue hued bruising that circled her hip region and buttocks, watching her involuntary jump as it made contact; “this whip yesterday damaged your skin, just enough to cause much pain and your skin to change its colour as your blood flowed into to heal it. Over the night, as your skin is healing, it has become swelled with much blood. This has made your damaged skin very sensitive to the touch, even more so than yesterday. This is why, just with light strokes like this... and this... here and here... it makes you jump about and twitch, like a fish on a line”

Fernandez-Gonzales nodded to the guard, who promptly pulled the gag from Amelia’s mouth. She looked at the General as he walked around to face her, trying to narrow her eyes at him in defiance but blinking away a stray tear instead. It was only five blows from the whip, but it felt like he had cut through her skin five times with a knife. There was even a warm trickle of blood running down her right leg, though the wound was probably already healing for the same reason that the blows were so painful; the body was in skin healing overdrive. At the second attempt she successfully managed to keep eyes wide open and stare out Fernandez-Gonzales until he uncomfortably nodded to the guard and exited. That, she sighed inwardly, was probably the end of the water. But unexpectedly the two guards unfastened first the shackles holding her feet down and then the handcuffs holding her arms up. Circling some sensation back into her dead arms, Amelia walked between the guards along two passages to the row of cages. She stepped inside one and watched the men lock the gate and walk away.

With no clock in sight it was impossible to measure time but, only a few minutes later, a woman of a similar age to Amelia was dragged along the passage and thrust into the adjacent caged cell. She was partially clothed, though all her garments were ripped, but it was clear that she too had been hit a number of times. She was dirty and bloodied, but clearly had confidence and fight left in her. Amelia took an instant liking to the woman, a Hispanic beauty, and was about to speak when the guards returned. They opened the woman’s cage and placed bread and a jug of water on the floor, locked the gate behind them and departed. There was silence. Amelia broke it.

“What’s your name?” asked Amelia; “what are you doing here?”“Juanita” replied the woman; “you look sick... would you like a drink?”“Yes please” said Amelia; “I really, really need a drink. I’m so thirsty...”“There...” said Juanita, pouring water into a cup and passing it through the bars.“Thanks” said Amelia, downing the water in one long swallow; “is there any more?”“Of course” smiled Juanita, pouring herself a drink and then another for Amelia“So...” Amelia continued; “what are you doing locked up here?”“My father, he was caught outside some base or other... I really don’t know” explained Juanita; “but they took him and tortured him, and then my mother. They would not say anything. They could not say anything because they were innocent, but they were both killed. The authorities think they must have passed on to me whatever they knew, and so now I am here too. I cannot tell you what they knew, I tell them, because they did not know anything! But still they beat me, as you see...”“That’s so unfair” said Amelia; “I don’t know what to say... that’s so cruel...”“But what about you?” asked Juanita; “why are you here? Would you like more water?”“They think that I know where some secrets are hidden” answered Amelia“What sort of secrets?” asked Juanita; “and do you know, or are you like me ignorant?”“Something to do with a Russian base underwater” said Amelia; “I don’t know very much about it, but what I do have they won’t get. No way, it’s too important”“Maybe if you tell them, they will let you go and you can still reach them first?” asked Juanita“It doesn’t really work like that” said Amelia; “but I have been wondering about a bargain...”“What sort of bargain?” asked Juanita“There’s someone in the United States who is working on something really dangerous, and maybe the Russians would like to know about him. He’s actually a criminal, so I wouldn’t be giving away any state secrets by talking about him. And his project will probably be closed down before the info is of any use anyway” explained Amelia to a suddenly enthused Juanita.“Amelia, you must try this!” cried Juanita; “you must not let them hurt you any longer. What is the name of this criminal?”“I don’t know his name, but he calls himself the Texan...” said Amelia“Quiet...” hissed Juanita; “the guards are returning. If they take me, good luck!”“Thank you” said Amelia, watching as Juanita got up and followed the guards out of the building.

Despite the confined space of the cage, Amelia nonetheless took advantage of the opportunity of freed hands to swing and pump her arms in an effort to restore the circulation. The sensations that resulted made her gasp and clutch her arms across her chest. They had been at full stretch all night long, carrying her suspended body weight, and every muscle felt pulled. Her shoulders also ached, but not quite as much as feared considering that the injuries to them were the reason she was there in the first place albeit indirectly. Sharp pains stabbed through her wrists where new scars encircled them above the pattern of previous ones from other confinements, the bones and muscles crushed by the metal bands cutting into them during the suspension. Nervous about sitting on the bruises aggravated by the repeat whip strokes such a short time previously, Amelia instead nursed her arms and wrists while slowly pacing the square of floor between the bars.

Her deliberations about whether to try and buy her way out with alternative information were both interrupted and made academic when the gate was opened and two new guards, new to Amelia at any rate, escorted her without force to the large room, the former garage, outside her usual cell. At a desk sat General Fernandez-Gonzales, and he motioned for Amelia to sit on a metal chair before him. She placed her arms behind the chair but, when the guards simply stepped back, accepted the extended period of relative freedom and crossed them behind her lap.

“Amy...” began General Fernandez-Gonzales; “we have reached a point where you will speak, or...”“...or you turn the screws” said Amelia; “this chair is really uncomfortable. I think you made a good start. If my bikini days are over because of permanent whip marks, you are in so much trouble”“They will heal” said the General; “but please do not force us to inflict more permanent injuries”“You said before, you want to know about Harrison” said Amelia; “and I said I’m not telling you”“Oh...” mused Fernandez-Gonzales, looking nervously at a new arrival. The man was dressed in a suit that seemed incongruous for the setting, his only sentence ending in Spanish but opening in Russian. He was clearly one of them. The General continued: “let us not worry about Harrison at the moment my dear. We need to ask you about another... urgent matter”“The Texan” said a different voice from behind Amelia, a voice also familiar although now confident and authoritative in tone. Juanita, now dressed in a military uniform and combat boots, walked over to join the two men; “tell us what you know about him and who you have told this to. We need to hear everything you know, from every contact you made with his work to all you have discovered and every colleague, acquaintance and each government agency you have told this to!”“Wait... no, hold on...” stumbled Amelia; “apart from the fact that I don’t like you anymore, you’re not interested in the Texan are you? All you want is more about me and my contacts...”“Go on...” purred Juanita, pouting over the corner of the desk; “you’re not as stupid as you seem”“My dear...” murmured Fernandez-Gonzales to Juanita, “nobody could be as stupid as she seems”“Yes, I can hear you” grumbled Amelia; “so it turns out the Texan is a Communist codename”“And you know too much about him” said Juanita; “which you will now tell to us”“What makes you think I know that much about him?” asked Amelia; “maybe I just heard the name”“You planning to bargain your knowledge of the Texan against the vital intelligence we wish to get from you about Project Volkhova” replied Juanita; “so obviously you think you know something of importance about him. Now, will you tell us willingly or must we force it from you?”“Guess” snapped Amelia impetuously, crossing her legs and folding her arms.“Your file was interesting reading” said Juanita, stepping forward from the desk and making it a one to one confrontation; “so I know how you can withstand normal methods of interrogation quite well, though maybe you have not encountered anyone who can perform them correctly. Each subject is unique, and the truth must be drawn from them. Now, maybe you are no longer the same woman as resisted the fascist torture in America during the war. What do you think?”“Why don’t you try me” scowled Amelia, staring into Juanita’s eyes as a challenge.“You could, I am sure, withstand the exact same methods for longer” agreed Juanita; “a method is always less effective a second time, if a subject has withstood it and no longer fears it. You do not fear easily, this I noticed in the yard yesterday. But what if the method was made to actually work on you and persuaded you to talk without the fear? What if you really wanted to talk?”“That is so not going to work, but I’m guessing you’re going to try anyway” said Amelia

“General Fernandez-Gonzales, Colonel...” said Juanita, turning to the men behind the desk; “during a period of interrogation, Amy was subjected to a session of electrical shocks over a period of some hours by one of your East German doctors. Although back in Germany at the hands of the Gestapo, or even here in the present day, the treatment would have lasted for days since electricity causes intense pain but no physical damage, it was still remarkable for an untrained agent. However, I will now demonstrate how to make the same person submit to electrical stimulation in a few minutes”“Go away with your over confidence!” laughed Amelia; “you don’t want to make such big claims”“But there is more upon this than just your submission!” laughed Juanita in response“Really?” asked Amelia puzzled; “go on...”“If you will not talk for me, then I must sleep tonight with the General in his bed” whispered Juanita“Sounds like your unlucky day” smiled Amelia defiantly; “what if I did talk? Not that I will...”“Oh...” grinned Juanita; “I still spend the night with the General, but we do it in here...”“Well...” smiled Amelia sweetly, nodding at the door to her cell; “as a resident in these parts, in the interests of a quiet night, I’m going to lose you the bet by not telling you anything”“You, go away with your over confidence” said Juanita, resting her hands on her hips; “will you still cooperate with us, or must we use force? The bed is over there...”“Laying on a metal frame without a mattress or a nightdress is going to open some wounds here and get blood all over you nice... dirty floor” said Amelia, turning in the chair and pointing to her bruises.“That is thought of already” said Juanita; “just go!”

Amelia got up from the chair and crossed to an old metal framed bed that was bolted to the floor in the direction of the back wall. Juanita strode across and laid a thick blanket over the centre of the bed, draping it across the sides, so that it would stretch from Amelia’s knees to her ribcage when she lay above it. Amelia sat on the blanket, turned, and lay on the bed, shoulders and head resting on the metal mesh and adopting a spread-eagle position with her ankles either side of the lower frame and her hands holding the corners of the upper frame. Juanita fastened Amelia’s ankles with leather straps before moving up and handcuffing her wrists to the opposite corners of the bed. Wheeling across a trolley, she explained the voltage and current control box with its cables and wires to the generator one way and the subject the other. This was for the benefit of the General and his visitor rather than Amelia, who faked a tired yawn. With one hand she picked up the end of one wire, its end passed through the centre of a small cylindrical matt of fine steel wool.

“This is the method used on you before?” asked Juanita, directing her question at Amelia; “tell me if I’m going wrong, as I want to recreate your treatment and show how it is done properly”“Yeah” said Amelia, raising her head and looking at the tiny metal bundle; “that’s it...”“But...” said Fernandez-Gonzales; “is the wire of that attachment not in itself painful?”“Not really, as it is very fine and soft” explained Juanita, rolling the wool up and down Amelia’s left cheek; “and when soaked in oil it will be merely irritation against the flesh, like a rough lover who will not pull out...”“And we’ve all had one of those...” agreed Amelia, wondering why she was finishing Juanita’s joke and making a mental note that luring her into relaxing was probably part of the trick. She closed her eyes, holding her breath as Juanita duly inserted the negative connection, feeling the dextrous touch of the other woman carefully part her skin and then lay the wire neatly across her left thigh.“Did that hurt?” asked Juanita, feigning sympathy.“No” replied Amelia; “but I expect it will in a moment”

Amelia strained to lift her head and see what Juanita was doing. She held the wooden handle of a thin metal rod that ended in a small sphere of the same metal. Amelia stared down her torso and held her breath as the end of the rod was lowered out of sight between her legs. She felt it touch her and expected a jolt of pain, but instead experienced a tingling sensation. As Juanita increased the voltage by a notch the sensation became stronger, but uncomfortable rather than painful. Letting her head fall back, Amelia breathed slowly in and out as Juanita moved the metal around the small but sensitive area of her body. She realised that her breathing had sped up and become shallower as Juanita stroked her with the probe, and could feel the sensations growing stronger as the electricity flowed across her soft tissue and stimulated a reaction.

“You are liking this?” asked Juanita, a mischievous giggle in her voice as she continued to work the tiny probe with its live current into the folds of Amelia’s skin and exciting the genital organs as hard as her subject tried to resist them; “No, do not lie. I can see that you are enjoying this...”“Can we stop now?” asked Amelia, her head collapsing back onto the mesh, fighting the urges that grew inside her but knowing she was powerless against her body’s basic instinct.“I bet you always say that” winked Juanita; “but we can stop. Tell us about the Texan or Harrison...”“Okay” said Amelia; “actually you’re quite good at this. I should hire you when Rory’s away”“As you wish” Juanita sighed.

Turning the voltage up another couple of notches, Juanita found the spot that made Amelia flinch however hard she tried to hide her expressions and began to hold the probe against the tiny head. She lifted it away, then placed it back and lifted it away again, two seconds on and two off before shortening the touches and the pauses. As the contacts against the most sensitive part of the female erogenous zone, the tiny glans clitoris, became faster and more rhythmic, Amelia could feel herself lose control. She could no longer raise her head to look down her body at Juanita and could feel the tension sweep through her upper body and arms, could feel a reaction in her breasts that Juanita would be watching too, was aware of her feet turning and flexing in the straps, and could not stop herself from reaching out and pulling back with her hands and rattling the handcuffs against the bed. Tap, tap, tap, tap went the probe as it pulsed current into her nerve endings that flowed out through her vaginal canal and the wool pad, mimicking the thrill and sensation of energetic sexual contact. This was a very low trick indeed. She was almost there, almost there... and Juanita stopped. She was full of blood, the sensations of the current gone but replaced by those of strong arousal.

Pulling a wooden bit from a pocket, a cylindrical piece of wood with a leather straps at each end, and holding it up so that her captive could see it clearly, Juanita carefully lifted Amelia’s head up from the mesh of the bed frame. Amelia stared at the bar of wood as it approached her face, opening her mouth obediently for Juanita to place it inside and strap it tightly around the back of her neck. Still holding her head up, to see where Juanita went and what she did, Amelia realised why she had been given something to bite on as the other woman smiled at her and twisted the voltage control up to maximum. She could not take her gaze off Juanita, watching her hand pick up the metal probe that now carried a fierce electric shock and lower it out of sight. She felt the metal end touch her, just the contact making her twitch, but no shock. Then, placing one hand on Amelia’s abdomen and holding her down, Juanita flicked a switch on the device and the anticipated lightning bolt surged across the complex thousands of sensitised nerve endings and soft tissue between the rod and wool pad. Pain lit up the delicate erogenous zone connected by the invasive connections and stabbed through her organs, into her abdomen, down her legs to her twisting feet, up through her chest and arms to hands as they clenched around the rungs of the bed frame. That was all in the first fraction of a second, her whole nervous system catching fire, as she bit down hard on the gag. Face muscles and jaw clenching around the gag, Amelia could feel Juanita’s hand on her stomach holding her down as the current sent signals down tortured nerves and her body bucked with spasms. Tears welling up in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, Amelia lost sight of the room and its occupants. Within seconds, but moments that felt like a lifetime of agony, the rod was lifted and the source of the pain removed. But the constant stabbing, burning anguish continued unabated and, now freed from the pressure of Juanita’s hand, Amelia’s loosely restrained body writhed and jerked on the bed.

“Now...” said Juanita as she appeared above Amelia, wiping away the tears with a soft handkerchief and removing the gag; “that was the torture. Are you in much pain? Good...”“Bitch” was all Amelia was able to mutter before taking a slow, unsteady breath; “tell you now...”“So, you were wrong and I win my bet after all” said Juanita; “what would you tell us first?”“That was awesome” whispered Amelia, staring up at Juanita and blinking another stray tear aside as she continued quietly; “you should advertise... best orgasm ever... way better than sex...”“You...” exclaimed Juanita; “do not try to pretend you enjoyed that! You must be in terrible pain!”“Yes...” gulped Amelia, words coming between ragged and pained breaths; “and... when I’m out of here you’re so going suffer for this... but really... you’re here to torture me for stuff... and of course that’s going to hurt... me, a lot more than you... but if I’m going to... ah!... be in pain for you... then at least it’s better if it was awesome... and something to write in my memoirs...”“Miss Cordoba!” shouted the impatient voice of Fernandez-Gonzales; “are you going to try again?”“No” said Juanita; “the stories about the famous New York journalist Amelia Williams and her ability to frustrate tormentors are all true. I don’t know who you learned this from, but...”“Yeah” said Amelia, her voice already stronger and steadier; “that was him. He stood up to bullies and suffered every kind of pain you can imagine, but he never gave in to them because once you give in to the bad guys they know they can just walk all over you. People who hurt you don’t stop when you give in to them they just take that as confirming that they’re better than you and hurt you more. So yeah... whatever... I’m done now”“Oh please” said Juanita; “save me the speeches. You lost me the bet, I’m disgraced. What can I do but give you to General Fernandez-Gonzales to make you talk the hard way. No General, I will not be trying again. It would work or not work, to inflict this pain when she is most vulnerable. This I will say to you, that she may not be vulnerable to you either. I think we will both lose, today. Tomorrow is a new day and, dearest Amy, enjoy your victories while you have the strength to do so...”

Amelia watched them go, the interrogators and their guest along with all the guards. Deliriously she considered if, unattended, it might present a chance of escape. Then her head cleared, and brought the realisation that even if the whole camp were deserted she was still handcuffed to the bed frame with no idea where the keys were and even less chance of reaching them. Approaching footsteps caused Amelia to lift her head and peer over at the door. Juanita was approaching with a bottle and two glasses. She sat on a stool next to the bed and poured from the bottle into the glasses, resting one on the trolley that carried the electro-torture equipment and holding one to Amelia’s lips. It was a rough but welcome Bourbon and Amelia, after coughing on the first sip, downed the whole glass at the second attempt. They drank together in silence for half an hour, Juanita repeating the process of pouring a glass and raising Amelia’s head before tipping the contents into her throat a number of times while sipping her own drink more steadily. Eventually, her head spinning slightly, Amelia broke the silence.

“So why are you now drinking with me?” she asked; “do you have schizophrenia or a twin sister?”“Fernandez-Gonzales wants you recovered from my failed attempts before he tries to make you talk about the Texan and Mr Harrison’s information tonight” said Juanita resignedly; “you are not burned by the electricity, though it will feel like open burns at the moment, and your nerve connections only need to settle until your body returns to normal. Apart from some twitches, but they too will pass. The effect of the alcohol will desensitise again what I have sensitised and speed your recovery. I am sorry that I cannot release you, but the General has ordered you not be moved and I think you are not yet ready for walking”“Thank you for the drink” said Amelia cautiously; “but I hope getting me drunk isn’t part of another plan for making me talk. I’ll be unconscious before I’m drunk enough to forget what I’m doing. And I’m okay here, it’s not like there’s anywhere to go or better stuff I could be doing. Anyway, a hot girl in uniform pouring whiskey down me while I’m handcuffed to her bed is kind of sexy...”

The two women emptied the bottle of Bourbon between them and Juanita departed. Watching her go, Amelia could already feel the warmth of the alcohol flowing through her and calming the nerves excited by the shock torture. Feeling drowsy, she relaxed on the bed, or at least as much as possible with her upper back and shoulders resting on the wire mesh not covered by the blanket. But even this irritation soon passed and left only that of not being able to reach an itch on her nose. Hands one moment reaching up to the bracelets locked around the bed frame, fingers toying with them and sliding them along the rail, and then falling limp in the bracelets around her wrists, the chains linking them and suspending one bracelet from the other at either end of the rail pulled taut, she fell asleep. The nightmare filled slumber lasted through the heat of the afternoon, occasional stabs of pain from still unsettled nerves entering her dreams but not waking her, until she woke to find that she was no longer laying on the bed. Uncertain for a moment if she were still dreaming, the second prod into her stomach from Fernandez-Gonzales’ riding whip returned Amelia to full consciousness. She was sitting in a steel cage, formed of bars linked by cross pieces on all six sides including the top and bottom. It was not wide enough to stretch out her legs or tall enough to get up, but there was room to sit upright and she straightened. The General, Juanita and the visitor were all present. With a sudden jolt upwards, the cage was lifted above the metal floor plate on which it had been standing and gently swung above it.

“Where is the information passed to you by Harrison?” asked Fernandez-Gonzales, stepping forward and taking hold of the cage bars; “...and start telling us all you know about the Texan...”“Can we just forget I mentioned that?” asked Amelia“No” replied Fernandez-Gonzales; “answer now or we begin”

Amelia remained silent, for the CIA needed more time to discover her disappearance and recover the microfilms. It was too soon to reveal their location but, for all the playful banter with Juanita, the pain of over two days of rough treatment was wearing her down physically and soon the tortures would begin to affect her emotionally too as her strength and endurance failed. With a scraping noise of metal protesting against concrete, the floor plate was pulled aside to reveal a square pit of the exact same dimensions as the cage. It was also full almost to the floor level with dirty looking and fouler smelling water that, with displacement, certainly would rise to the top of the pit and flow onto the floor. As the pulley in the roof went into reverse, rolling out the chain that suspended the cage, the vehicle of Amelia’s present incarceration dropped neatly with careful positioning into the pit. With the water covering just the base of the cage, making her feet wet but no more, the pulley was stopped and Fernandez-Gonzales looked down at her quizzically. At the shake of her head, the cage was lowered until her whole body was submersed up to her neck. Amelia glowered defiantly up at the figures now towering above her, for with the cage lowered into the pit her head was barely level with their boots. Taking a deep breath, fear nonetheless clutched at Amelia’s heart as the cage dropped the final few inches and landed on the bottom of the pit. The water was greasy, unpleasant as she was carried down into it and her head beneath its surface. Not wanting to open her eyes in the water, but eventually compelled to see what was happening above her, Amelia found herself staring up at three faces looking down at her impassively. Nothing happened, but her lungs were starting to hurt and keeping her breath in was becoming more difficult. Desperately fighting back the urge, the carbon dioxide accumulation finally exhaled all the air from her lungs as a reflex reaction and equally instinctively her lungs expanded to replace it. At the contact of inrushing water, her epiglottis sealed shut and she swallowed the water. Amelia pressed her face against the bars of the cage’s roof, but the water was lapping an inch above them and filled her throat again forcing an involuntary swallow. She reached out through the bar, her arms waving in the air but the rest of her body still trapped in the cage. Pulling them back, Amelia began to panic and thrash in the confined space. She tugged at the bars, suffocating and swallowing more and more water, her eyes bulging as the three faces merely stared back, but the gate was on the side of the cage and could not have been opened in the pit even if someone had wished to. But they did not. With a belly full of water and her lungs on fire, chest aching with the effort of not being able to expand and draw oxygen, Amelia felt her very consciousness slipping away. The cage lifted from the pit, spilling water onto the floor as it rose into the air. Amelia coughed and choked and gagged, the water in her throat and nose preventing her from breathing naturally. After some moments, she lay slumped in the cage and noisily drew in breath after laboured breath.

Hoist into the air from below the floor to head height, Amelia tried to swat away the crop as the General jabbed her through the bars like a caged creature. The gesture was taken correctly as a continued refusal to cooperate and she grabbed the bars as the cage fell rapidly towards the floor, having the presence of mind to pull them inside as it was guided swiftly and expertly back into the pit. Looking out, Amelia watched the onlookers pass from below to above like riding in a lift and not stopping for people waiting at other floors. This distraction, her misguided expectation of an exact repeat of the same anticipation building method, and the shock of the sudden plunge into the water for a second time, all contributed to what happened next. Amelia was exhaling as an almost audible cry of surprise as she landed with a thud at the bottom of the pit and the water engulfed her head, splashing to and fro above the roof bars as it settled from the cage and its passenger crashing into it. Instantly Amelia’s throat was full of the disgusting, dirty water and again swallowing it down to clear the passage for air that was inches beyond her mouth and instead replaced with more water. She thumped the bars with the palms of her hands in desperation, even trying to put a shoulder beneath the roof of the cage with her feet through spaces in between the bottom bars and push it upwards to bring her open mouth an inch closer to the air. The cage did not lift, her ascending panic mixing with anger as Fernandez-Gonzales asserted his superiority, and her helpless plight, by lowering one boot on top of the cage to prevent it lifting by even one inch. Again, as the energy went out of her floundering, the cage was lifted up and the General waited for the coughing and retching to stop.

“Harrison...” he said simply; “...and the Texan, now if you will please?”“Keep trying” muttered Amelia, feeling unwell from the asphyxiation and being raised and lowered so rapidly in the cage into and out of the water. But the only way they were going to stop was if she gave up what she knew, and that would only be if... a thought struck her, and she wondered if the gambit might actually work. Before she could enact it however, the cage fell and was manoeuvred into the pit once more. Again it fell straight to the bottom, but this time Amelia took a deep breath to giver herself a moment to think. As the water closed over her head for the third time, it became clear that Fernandez-Gonzales was not prepared to wait for her to breath out of her own accord. He leaned forwards and unexpectedly dipped the riding whip into the water, flicking the end against her left breast. It was not a hard blow due to the water slowing down the shaft and the lack of leverage, but the shock made Amelia let go the breath she had been holding and reach up protectively. The torture had worked, for losing her air so quickly and suddenly really had demoralised her and carried her resistance away with the bubbles of precious oxygen. She really could not go through the whole suffocation ritual again. It was time to put the plan into action, and she clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture to Fernandez-Gonzales and tried not to swallow any more water as the cage was lifted.

“Harrison and the Texan now, please Amy...” said Fernandez-Gonzales“Let me get out of this cage first” demanded Amelia; “then we talk”“Even now, you have the courage to demand terms” said the General, nodding to two guards who lowered the cage and unlocked it before escorting a stiff Amelia to the chair in front of the desk.“I have a deal to offer you” said Amelia, folding her arms and crossing her legs below the knees.“We are listening” said the General; “but we do not like your offer, then it’s back into the water...”“No! That won’t be necessary” regretting the speed at which she reacted to the threat and giving away that they had hit upon one of her vulnerabilities, the fear of asphyxia; “from what I understand so far, the main reason that you wanted me here was to find out what I had done with the stuff that Harrison found out about the thing in the sea. That was the original reason for picking me up?”“Yes...” said Fernandez-Gonzales; “but now we need other things from you. The cage is waiting...”“No! Listen first, okay?” pleaded Amelia, turning her attention away from the General and towards Juanita as a potential ally; “the extra stuff is just that isn’t it, extra stuff? You can finish your job and get the information back and be clear. But you’re also not going to let me go until you have all the stuff out of me about the underwater base and the Texan guy. So the deal is this... I’ll tell you how to get the stuff you want that I dropped off so you’ve done what you have to, and then I’ll talk about the other stuff and who knows about it as well”“But how is this a deal?” asked Juanita; “because you will tell us about the files and then we will just torture you for the other information until you give it to us anyway. This was our intention all along, so how is this changed?“Because I’m offering to willingly tell you what you want now, and willingly talk about the other stuff later on... but not to you, and that’s the deal” explained Amelia; “that’s what I’m offering”“And who will you tell about the other information?” asked Juanita, curious.“Professor Menshikov” said Amelia, recalling the name from Harrison’s comments and hoping that the professor would both be on the undersea base and reasonably helpful to her situation if he was a man of science. If she surrendered the original intelligence then she owed it to Harrison and Uncle Sam to replace it, and what better way than to infiltrate the base herself.“No” said Fernandez-Gonzales; “we do not accept your terms. We will put you back in the cage and continue with the drowning pit tonight and, if you do not surrender all of the information as told, we will tie you in the sun without water from dawn tomorrow and whip the truth from you!”“Stop!” cried Amelia, actual apprehension creeping into her voice; “you’re not thinking this through! If your friend over there reports back to Moscow that I gave in and offered the information with one little condition that doesn’t make any difference to you, but he says that you turned it down just to torture me and didn’t get anything, then they’re not going to like you very much!”“But we will get everything we want, Amy...” smiled the General; “it is just a matter of time”“But what if you don’t?” pressed Amelia; “after all, you haven’t got anything except a promise so far and you’re even thinking about turning that down. Turn down my offer and you don’t have anything, and in front of him over there. It isn’t looking good for you...”

The General held up a hand, got up from his desk, and engaged in a brief conference with the visitor.“Very well” said Fernandez-Gonzales; “we accept your offer. You will be escorted to the coast and handed over to other operatives. Now, tell us where the information is located!”“Tomorrow” said Amelia; “I will tell you tomorrow when the arrangements are ready to take me out of here, so that you don’t get the information and have all night to change your minds...”

Amelia got up from the chair as the heavy metal door of her cell was opened and walked inside. The door slammed shut, the lever turned to slide the bolts home, and she heard the clang of the padlock. So they still were taking no chances. In the dark, claustrophobic, airless room, Amelia realised too that she was starting to feel very sick. Her stomach was bloated from swallowing the water, and it felt like the unclean water had infected her with sickness. Nausea rapidly turned her head into a spinning top, new pains stabbing through her abdomen. She swallowed saliva until her mouth was dry, but still the pain intensified and the bile repeated its rise up her oesophagus. There was only one way for something violently reacting with the stomach, and this tight airless room was not the place for that to happen. As feelings of light headed, nauseous and uncontrollable physical reflex twisted her insides with crippling pain, she hammered on the door and shouted for help. The irony that they had inflicted their most terrible torture without even knowing it made her smile, but hit the door with the flat of her hand even harder. She vomited violently behind the door, faeces and urine following as her stomach ejected the filth through every outlet. The stench of her own waste overwhelmed her and she fell to her knees and finally unconscious as the door opened.

Chapter Five: “Don’t worry. I’m just a second class citizen”

Amelia slowly woke from a deep but troubled sleep to find herself lying not on a hard concrete floor but on a soft mattress with her head resting on a broad pillow. Though she could feel that her left wrist, with her arm passing beneath the pillow, was handcuffed to the furniture, her right hand was free. Still naked, not even covered with a blanket, she feared the worst was reaching down between her legs when a familiar voice spoke and she opened her eyes.

“Do not worry” said Juanita; “you are safe here in my private room. No man, not even the General, would dare to violate you in here. I’m hoping that your upgrade has made you feel better?”“What happened?” asked Amelia, bewildered; “the last thing I remember is being sick...”“Very sick” said Juanita; “the guard heard you beating the door and called for me, in case it was an attempt to escape you understand. We found you unconscious next to a pile of the most revolting human waste we have ever seen and dragged you out. I cleaned your body and your hair, the men carried you into here, and I put you to bed. Securely of course...”“Handcuffed to your bed again... what would my husband say?” Amelia winked“He would be very jealous of me, I think” smiled Juanita; “you are very beautiful, but very stupid”“Thank you very much” said Amelia; “what makes you say that? The stupid bit, obviously...”“If you had a deal to offer, why not speak after the electro-shock session?” asked Juanita, almost as if pleading for an explanation; “why let the General put you underwater in his horrible test and make you sick? Why not save yourself sooner, if you have an idea? It would have worked before or after the water, or not at all!”“Well...” began Amelia, turning over and lifting herself up so that she was supported by her left arm on the mattress; “obviously I didn’t know that someone was going to try and drown the truth out of me. Secondly... actually I didn’t think of the idea until I was already in the cage. Sorry...”“You must think of these things quicker” rebuked Juanita; “imagine if the General had found you and not me last night? He is displeased at losing you, especially the way that you manipulated him in front of the... visitor. He would have enjoyed locking the door back up! You would have been unfit to travel for at least a day. In that time things might have changed, you might have stayed here, and a lot of very bad things would have been done to you. You must think more quickly next time”“Thanks for the advice” said Amelia; “I suppose you go through this all the time!”“Yes, once I was a prisoner” said Juanita; “and I was strapped down to a frame and tortured with the electricity, more volts than I put into you Amy, for many days with little water and no food”“Oh... I’m sorry” Amelia apologised; “I didn’t realise. So why do you do it to other people?”“It works” said Juanita, adding: “most of the time. Now, are you ready to give us the first part of the information and travel to be handed over? Good.”

Juanita unfastened the handcuffs and passed Amelia a green boiler suit, helping her climb into it and fastening all but the top couple of press-studs before pulling Amelia’s arms behind her back and attaching her wrists back together. There was no protest from Amelia either to the handcuffs or the front of the suit being left seductively open down to her chest, for which she smiled quizzically at Juanita and received a cheeky wink in return. Looking down at the floor however, she asked:

“Does this boiler suit come with any shoes, if we’re going on a long journey?”“You don’t need shoes in the back of a truck. But you will wear these, so you don’t run away...”

Juanita knelt down and attached a length of chain between Amelia’s ankles, locking the shackles shut and slipping the key into her pocket. She answered Amelia’s reproving scowl.

“We do not want you running away, do we?” said Juanita; “and you will remain shoeless until after we have handed you over at the port. It is tradition, in the United States too, for those in submission to others as prisoners, slaves, whores or whatever to show their low status and the power that other people have over them by being forced to walk barefoot at all times. It is the law in many prisons, as you may find out one day perhaps? Maybe soon, if our comrades decide to keep you for a while...”

Scowling to nobody in particular, Amelia was led by Juanita through the camp and back to the room that served as both interrogation room and torture chamber. Juanita’s comments on subservience had made the rough, sticky dirt of the parade ground more noticeable beneath her feet, and the effect was only added to by the pull of the chain across the ground and the gentle rattle of the metal links dragging across the ground. As the soft dirt became hard concrete, Amelia struggled to push the sensations out of her mind and tell herself that subservience to someone through how they treated you was all in the mind. She had found herself getting through adventures in the forests of Germany or the mud and dust of Africa with no shoes on her feet and that had nothing to do with being some sort of second class citizen to Juanita or anyone else. Still, she almost subconsciously sat on the chair with her feet tucked beneath it and returned Juanita’s cold stare.

“They’re under the mattress” said Amelia, before General Fernandez-Gonzales could speak.“What are under which mattress?” asked Juanita; “more details please, Amy”“The hotel in Miami where I was staying” said Amelia; “if you haven’t found it already, there was a tennis racquet under the mattress with the microfilms in the handle. Can we go now?”

Juanita Cordoba and General Fernandez-Gonzales looked across at the sinister figure of the Moscow representative and, on receiving a nod of agreement, silently nodded back to Amelia and began to sign the transfer papers. Juanita motioned Amelia to follow her out of the room and into the back of a small military lorry parked in the yard. Amelia cursed as the chain on her ankles caught the step and sent her sprawling inside the back of the lorry, Juanita laughing hysterically as she slapped the grubby, upturned soles of Amelia’s feet and unhooked the chain. She climbed inside, helped Amelia onto one of the wooden benches parallel with the side of the truck and slipped a small padlock into a hoop screwed to the floor and through a link in Amelia’s chain. Juanita disappeared, leaving her captive passenger alone in the back of the truck, lifted and pinned the tailgate, and reappeared in the front cab alongside the driver. The truck immediately moved off and out through the gates. The journey down from the mountains and out to the sea took the whole day, even at a brisk pace and with only a couple of brief stops. Amelia bounced hard on the bench and was thrown to the floor several times, the handcuffs behind her back making it a challenge to climb back up while the lorry was still moving. Eventually she gave up, and found that sitting on the floor with her back to the opposite bench and her legs stretched out in front of her was much more comfortable. The entire rough journey was spent in the oppressive heat of the lorry, a curtain flap over the back keeping the dust out but the warmth in. Juanita, probably wisely, passed Amelia water during the breaks in the journey but at no point unchained her feet to step off the lorry. Sunset was casting long shadows as the lorry drove through the cluttered streets of the Pacific Ocean port of Buenaventura and pulled up at the side of a street. Juanita opened the back of the lorry, released the chain, and helped her charge down to the sidewalk.

“We are leaving the lorry here” said Juanita; “from here we walk to the meeting point, one mile”“You are joking” said Amelia, looking down; “why can’t we drive to the docks?”“Security” said Juanita; “we do not wish the lorry to be seen by the boat”“Rubbish!” cried Amelia; “you just want to drag me through the streets as your submissive slave!”“Yes” admitted Juanita, opening Amelia’s collar; “security reasons and, yes, to parade you!”“Thought so” said Amelia; “It’s quite flattering, but I wish it wasn’t a mile! Can’t you park nearer?”

To say that Juanita had, almost certainly intentionally, chosen the dirtiest mile streets in the city to push her down was, Amelia considered, an understatement. The original surfaces of the sidewalks and streets were concealed beneath a filthy slime of rotting garbage, human and animal waste, old mechanical lubricants, and generally years’ of accumulated grime. Initially picking her way carefully and awkwardly along the path, balancing each step, to Juanita’s obvious amusement and pleasure, on the front and sides of her feet, it quickly became clear that placing her weight on small areas of her feet was not going to keep them cleaner but was going to cause pain later. With effort and some repugnance, Amelia concentrated on a natural walk with her feet and toes lying flat on the ground with every pace. She tried not to concentrate on the mulched and smeared together muck that she was walking through and that stuck clammily to her increasingly sticky soles. The rattle and jangle of the chain followed her every step. Any hope that a walk through the streets might attract attention and offer a chance of escape evaporated as she looked around the squalid surroundings. These were second class citizens, or at least many of them were. Young women peered at her, some showing signs of being beaten or otherwise forced to serve others and many of them were like her barefoot. She was nothing special here. The only attention she received involved dirty old men leering at her, and she hoped Juanita would protect her from any such advances and get her to the port as quickly as possible. Which reminded Amelia of the hard ground wearing at her feet; they could not walk any faster. Eventually they reached the docks and walked across the loading apron to a walkway. It led up to a small, sleek ship that carried a Swedish flag and was decked with small cranes and scientific apparatus. This was an advanced research vessel. Juanita kissed Amelia on the cheek, reaching into the overalls as she did so, before waving and disappearing into the night. The seamen led Amelia up the walkway and onto the boat.

The cabin that Amelia was placed inside contained a two-tiered metal bunk bed, a table, and basic wash facilities. She sat on the bed while a tall, blonde, attractive seaman unlocked the handcuffs and chain. Amelia obediently lay back on the bed with her feet dangling through the bottom rungs and her hands against the rungs above the pillow as the seaman reattached both the chain, securing her ankles through the rungs, and the handcuffs through the bars behind her head. They left, not locking the cabin door, and very soon Amelia fell fast asleep, safe in the knowledge that the one-piece boiler suit would protect her dignity from any curious sailors’ attentions. The dawn light was streaming through a porthole when Amelia was awakened by an irritating sensation that made her jerk back her legs, only pulling her ankles up by a few inches until the chain snapped taut. Struggling to wake and raising her head to try and see the source of the irritation, Amelia giggled aloud as she realised that the irritation was a Southeast Asian girl, no older than her late teens, who was smiling down the bunk at her and had ticked her feet to wake her.

“Who are you?” asked Amelia“Carla” said the girl; “that was the name given me when I left my family. This is my cabin and you’re on my bunk, but I don’t mind. You can stay there if you like!”“Yeah... okay...” said Amelia as the girl ran her fingers along the chain and giggled at her own joke.“How are you?” asked Carla; “would you like something to eat or drink?”“Well... a drink would be nice. But how am I?” queried Amelia, raising her hands as high as the cuffs would allow; “how do you think I am?”“Sorry...” said Carla; “but you are fine. These are because men want to talk to you about business. When we reach wherever we are going, you will see whoever you are going to see and talk. But you are fine. Since leaving my family I have been chained to many beds, but for a different kind of...”“No, stop!” cried Amelia; “don’t go on, I understand. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. The last few days have been a bit rough, but I would rather go through it all again than... you know...”“I know” said Carla, lowering her head and walking along the bunk to stroke Amelia’s hair; “let me get you a drink and something to eat and I will feed you here. We have already passed through the canal, so will arrive sometime today I think. This is a very fast ship”“Thank you” said Amelia, accepting the hospitality such as it was; “that would be cool”“Good!” cried Carla; “I will get something and return soon”

The light meal of some toast and fruit juice sustained Amelia through the morning, Carla staying in the cabin to keep her company under the pretence of offering to guard her. A sandwich, and coffee drank through a straw, satisfied lunch and the boat arrived at its destination as the Sun set over the horizon. Restraints released and fastened again once removed from the bed frame, Amelia was led into a submersible and lowered under escort to the seabed. No land was visible in the darkness and she had no means of navigation, nor was she seated by a window. Amelia hoped that this was indeed the fabled undersea research base that Harrison had spied upon, or else this was a wasted journey and she would probably die or be taken prisoner behind the Iron Curtain without anything to show for the endeavour. The hatch opened and she stepped out onto the steel deck plates of an underwater facility of some description, feeling slightly embarrassed as scientists looked out of cabin doors to work out the source of the noise as her shackles clanged deafeningly on the deck as she otherwise silently padded along the passage. They stopped at a door marked Menshikov, her guard down from the boat being the same blonde seaman as had fastened her to the bunk the previous day. This she did not mind; partly because he was young, powerful and very handsome, and partly because he had been careful and dextrous in handling her the night before. He knocked firmly on the door and, when it was opened by a crack on a small security chain, spoke quickly in Russian and stepped back. The door closed, the chain was released, and it reopened to reveal a grey haired man in his late fifties or early sixties. He wore a grey suit and black tie, incongruous for the setting, and a pair of silver coloured spectacles. Waving both Amelia and the blonde seaman inside the cabin before closing the door, Professor Menshikov ushered them both to sit. The seaman, obviously an agent of some kind placed aboard the outwardly innocent but inherently sinister vessel above, stood by the door and refused the offer. The scientist held his hand out to Amelia but, realising that she was handcuffed, spoke instead in Russian once more the man. Petersen, as Menshikov addressed him, unlocked and pocketed the cuffs. Amelia shook the Professor’s hand at the second attempt. He poured them both a small glass of Vodka and, together, they downed the contents.

“In the circumstances I don’t think we will follow the custom of dashing the glasses” said Menshikov as he looked down at Amelia’s chained ankles and looked up at Peterson, the man shaking his head in response; “my poor dear, they are treating you badly. When I heard about a woman from Nassau who had been so daringly taken from America and, when under interrogation, had asked by name to see me, of course I was intrigued. Please, do not tell me that you have been brought all the way from the mountains of South America with no shoes?”“Don’t worry. I’m Just a second class citizen” replied Amelia; “it’s not why I’m here...”“No, I know but...” muttered the Professor, lifting and turning her left foot from the floor to reveal a dirtied, almost tar black sole; “you need a long soak in a hot bath, a comfortable pair of shoes, and a strong drink. Unfortunately I am not in a position to offer you all of these things, but will see what can be done. In the meantime, as you say, the strong drink is possible. Have another Vodka...”“Cheers” said Amelia, taking the drink; “can we, you know... talk alone?”“Of course” said Menshikov, asking Petersen in Russian to step outside.“So, Professor...” began Amelia once Peterson was in the corridor and the door closed; “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, but they were doing stuff to me like holding me underwater and I didn’t know who to turn to or how to get out. I know I’m not free now, and they could send me back there or to Moscow or whatever, but I remembered your name and hoped that being a scientist rather than a big booted soldier you might be able to help. You see, they think I know stuff about this Volkhova project and about some guy who I thought was an agent but actually he’s one of your spies. Really I don’t know anything about him, that’s why I’m investigating him. And I don’t know anything about you either. I’m just a journalist who was being used as courier, and now my feet hurt and other stuff hurts as well and I spend all day every day in handcuffs!”“I see...” said Menshikov thoughtfully; “you do realise that I cannot release prisoners, and what I do might cause more harm. If you are regarded as valuable, not just a courier who got lost but a useful asset, then we might be able to get you sent to Moscow to talk with people there. Not about the Texan, and oh yes I do know about him, but generally things about your country. Not the big secrets that I expect you know few of anyway, but... how do you say... stall things, until your people can get you out. It is the best I can do, and at least if you are upgraded you will be treated better. You will be given clothes and shoes and food and plenty of Vodka, but as a low value captive you might be killed and dumped in the sea or simply tortured for knowledge you do not have and abandoned in some labour camp or other. What do you say?”“Okay...” said Amelia; “but don’t you need me to talk to you first? You know, cooperate and stuff?”“My dear...” chuckled Menshikov; “I believe that maybe I already know more about Project Texan than you, and I certainly know more about Project Volkhova. I will make something up for you”“So...” said Amelia; “just in case you tell them something that I don’t know, but because you’ve said I said it I’m actually supposed to know... what is Project Volkhova anyway?”“You really do not know anything, do you...” said Menshikov; “not even what was in the precious microfilm that you were carrying. Let me tell you one thing... the biological weapon that you found being tested rather indiscreetly that used material from the cactus plants, it does work well by itself. But when the cactus and a certain type of underwater plant unique to this part of the ocean spend a little time together... this is enough for you to understand the bigger picture and the reasons why the KGB panicked and took you to a special interrogation camp. Also it is why your request to see me was granted. Your accidental mentioning of two related projects made you seem like part of a much bigger intelligence gathering operation than the Americans actually have...”“And now you’ve told me that I’m definitely not going to escape am I...” sighed Amelia“It gives you the beginnings of a cover story to keep you interesting in Moscow” said Menshikov; “it really does not matter what I tell you in terms of you escaping. As soon as Petersen returns, he will put on the handcuffs and take you back to a boat in the middle of the sea that you will drown for real if you jump off it with your feet chained together. You are going to Moscow my dear...”

*****

Back in her cabin, now alone with no sign of Carla, Amelia sat on the bunk deep in thought. The door was locked this time, but Menshikov had been as good as his word and written a letter that raised her status as a valuable hostage of the Soviet Union and not just a second class citizen to be dragged around the streets. Thus she was not physically attached to the bunk, though the restraints holding her hands behind her back and her ankles together had been left on for now; presumably to stop any exploration of the ship or, as suggested by the Professor, foolish thoughts about making a swim for it. The research vessel had been underway for some time when her attention was drawn to a loud commotion on deck. Peering through the porthole, she was surprised and encouraged to see a US Navy destroyer alongside. Through the glass she could hear the Swedish vessel being hailed, and wished she could reach the porthole to open the glass and hear the words. But this was hope of a sort. There was activity, but frustratingly out of sight further along the length of the two ships. Loud shouting came from the passage beyond the locked door of the cabin and then with a crash it was kicked open. Petersen ran in, a pistol raised and pointing directly between Amelia’s eyes. Diving out of the way, she avoided the first shot and rolled onto her back on the bed. Lifting her legs into the air she kicked his shooting arm to the side as he fired again, closing her eyes as a third report echoed around the cabin. Amelia opened one eye and then the other, almost comically peering down at the floor where the body of Petersen lay surrounded by a growing pool of fresh blood. Behind him stood a sailor in US Navy uniform.

“Who are you, Ma’am?” asked the sailor hurriedly“Mrs Amelia Williams, and I hope you’ve been looking for me...” replied Amelia, continuing when the sailor returned a blank stare: “oh well, never mind. Can you take me to your Captain please?”“Yes, Ma’am” responded the sailor, taking the keys from Petersen’s pocket and releasing her bonds.

Epilogue

Amelia stepped from the tiny shower cubicle of the guest cabin and collapsed onto the narrow bed. Not a bunk bed as on the research vessel, but a proper single bed intended for visiting officers with sheets and blankets and soft pillows. This was where it had all veered off course, stepping out of the shower and feeling the nose of Marigold Currie’s pistol press into her back. Poor Marigold Currie, the second victim of the adventure after Harrison and before Petersen, though since the latter had been shooting at her at the time she felt less sorry for him. Fernandez-Gonzales and Juanita had wanted to add Amelia’s dignity to the casualty list. They should have picked a girl who still had some. Events while she was locked in the cabin had been explained by Captain Wiltshire once she had settled into the cabin, after the ship’s mechanic had picked the locks on her restraints but before she stripped off the boiler suit for a shower. The raid had been on the pretence of an anti-piracy patrol, but in reality they had been watching the ship for some time and guessed it was involved in illegal Soviet activity off the US coast. The research vessel’s crew also knew that they knew and tried to run, then started shooting when the destroyer proved a match for pace. They had successfully destroyed any papers that might have incriminated them, but were stopped moments from killing the eye witness to their activities by an eagle eyed member of the boarding party who spotted Petersen running with a gun in apparently the wrong direction and followed him. With no other evidence aboard, it was decided to allow the boat to continue in the interests of avoiding a diplomatic incident. Amelia had asked about Carla, if anyone had seen her, and Wiltshire promised to make enquiries but made no promises of finding an answer as to her fate.

Pulling the towel across her body before allowing it to slip to the floor, Amelia looked across at a chair by the door and noticed that someone had made a clandestine delivery while she was cleaning herself up. Piled neatly on the chair was a stack of new clothing items from the ship’s store. Wiltshire had obviously decided that the boiler suit was not really what a lady on his ship should be wearing, and Amelia hoped that she would be allowed to keep the uniform and take it home. Underwear for a lady was understandably not something the ship’s store would be able to help her with, but she had managed without any so far. There was a pair of trousers and a belt, a shirt, a dress jacket to keep off the wind, and someone with a sense of humour had even added a sailor’s hat. And sitting on the chair next to the pile of clothes was a new pair of soft training shoes, a true delight. There was a part of her that wanted to rush over and try everything, while another part of her wanted to simply lay on the bed naked and exhausted until someone knocked on the door to call her for dinner. The latter option won. And someone knocked on the door, calling her for dinner.

All of the officers were present at the table and stood as Amelia arrived, dressed in the perfectly fitting uniform items. Captain Wiltshire pulled back the chair next to his own and Amelia sat down.

“Thanks for new clothes” said Amelia; “they all fit exactly, so someone around her is good at making measurements with their eyes. And thanks for having me to dinner. Absolutely starving...”“No problem, Ma’am” said Wiltshire; “the pleasure is all ours. Some of us know about you already from the papers and filled in the other guys on what a great Englishwoman you are!”“Scottish actually” said Amelia; “but that’s Uncle Sam’s navy. Better at lady’s clothing measurements than geography, but you rescued me so I’m not complaining. You found your way to the Bahamas”“The famous cutting Amelia Williams sense of humour” said Wiltshire; “but you’re a celebrity around here, and a friend of Mr President, so we’re not complaining either...”“Sorry” apologised Amelia; “Rory keeps telling me that I’m rude”“What do you say back?” asked a junior officer at the end of the table, breaking the ice.“Me... oh, I just tell him to shut up!” scowled Amelia

The whole table laughed, as the stewards arrived with the first course. This voyage was going to be too short, thought Amelia as Captain Wiltshire poured her a glass of wine. Far too short.

amelia williams will return...

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